


Good Stories

by pipisafoat



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Accidental Declarations of Love, Alternate Universe, Episode s04e10 Arctic Radar, F/M, Sudden Realizations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 23:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14224197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat
Summary: “You already love me,” she replies casually, and time freezes. All Josh can hear is his heartbeat, his blood rushing through his veins, a voice in his head sayingyou already love her, you already love herover and over.





	Good Stories

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: brief and fairly clinical discussion of PTSD and its possible manifestations; brief references What Kind of Day Has It Been (s01e22); brief mention of brain tumors, incurable diseases, and (unnamed but discussed) schizophrenia/hallucinations.
> 
> shut up i can't think of a real title so have that crap title instead. other titles considered: "the arctic radar au it took me six months to get past the second paragraph of" and "In Which Josh And Donna Each Get a Clue (Only Donna Gets an Extra)"

“Those are good stories about you, though,” Josh defends softly, one last time. “Those stories would make me love you.”

“You already love me,” she replies casually, and time freezes. All Josh can hear is his heartbeat, his blood rushing through his veins, a voice in his head saying _you already love her, you already love her_ over and over. A small part of his brain registers the look on her face changing, her lips moving again, but _you’re in love with her, you already love her_ is echoing through his skull. A hand lands on his shoulder; he jumps and makes a surprised noise that he absolutely will not call a yelp.

“Josh?” she asks in the tone of someone who’s already tried to get his attention more than once.

He clears his throat about thirty times. “Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

He tilts his head and considers her. “I don’t know,” he answers slowly.

“Okay, well, now I don’t know if I should stay with you or go get ready for my date with Jack.”

 _You’re in love with her_ and _date with Jack_ clash so glaringly in his head that he winces and takes a step back. “Stop it,” he says softly, hoping to at least quieten the echoing phrases, but _DATE WITH JACK_ only gets louder and more painful.

“Josh?”

“Not you,” he clarifies, putting a hand to his head. “I just … It’s too much, Donna, that’s all. I just need it to shut up.”

She takes off her coat, unwinds her scarf. “Sirens?”

It takes him a second to think past his preoccupation with his newly realized love for her. “What? No. Not sirens, Donna. It’s not … that.” Even now he can’t bring himself to say those four letters to her.

“Are you sure?”

Is he? He tries to take stock of himself the way Stanley taught him to recognize a PTSD attack. He’s anxious, but not enough to be a worry on its own. He’s not dissociating. He’s not hearing gunshots or sirens or people screaming or Toby calling his name. He knows who, when, and where he is, though he’s no longer clear on what exactly he’s doing. He—

A hand lands on his cheek. “Josh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure. It’s not that. Sorry if I worried you.”

Donna laughs, a small bitter sound. “Even if it’s not the PTSD, I’m still worried. Come on. Let’s go in your office.”

He follows her without question, something he’s suddenly realizing he does an awful lot of for him being the boss in their working relationship. “I’m completely certain it’s not the … that, Donna.”

“I believe you. I trust you. But Josh, if you’re suddenly hearing something that isn’t there—“

“Oh,” he interrupts, finally understanding her concern. “It’s not … I mean, have you ever had a thought that you couldn’t get rid of, a thought that felt like it was too loud? It’s not a voice, Donna. It’s just my own thoughts. And your voice.”

“ _My_ voice?” She now sounds even more alarmed when he was only trying to reassure her. Dammit.

“I mean, you said something, and I heard it, and it’s like my brain is so set on thinking about it - whether I want it to or not - that it’s repeating it. And it’s in your voice because that’s how I heard it.”

It’s been a long, long time since Donna’s looked afraid to move around him. She’s quiet through three false starts before finally touching his arm. “What did you hear me say?”

God. Phrased so carefully not to imply he didn’t actually hear it, but still so obviously doubting his sanity. “Da— No, forget it. It’s not your problem.”

“You’re my problem,” she answers back, a small smile on her face. The exchange was a frequent one during his recovery from the shooting and again after his diagnosis, and he feels his face echo her smile, the phrases quiet, some tension leave his body.

“Yeah.”

“So what did I say?”

He smiles again at her new wording, but it slides off as he realizes that she won’t let go without an answer, that he’s going to have to say it. “Date with Jack.”

Donna’s left eye squints slightly as she cocks her head at him. “And that’s echoing in your head loudly and bothering you.”

“Yeah.” He drops his gaze to the floor, unable to see any of the possible reactions she could have.

“What about the other part, the thoughts that aren’t something I said?”

“No.” He doesn’t lift his eyes, doesn’t move, doesn’t raise his voice, but he tries to put as much firmness into his quiet word as possible.

“Is that what it says or you refusing to tell me?”

He risks a quick glance, but all he sees is honest confusion on her face. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

Why not? How can he answer that without telling her what it is? “It’s not something I can say to you yet - I mean now, or maybe I mean ever, or … can we forget I said any of that? It’s nothing I can say to you, and I don’t think you’d be very happy to hear it from me even if I could say it.” _I’ve been in love with you for years and just realized it. I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you,_ his brain helpfully offers. He clenches his jaw to keep the words inside.

Donna sighs. “Sit,” she orders, taking his arm and pushing him toward a chair. She takes the other for herself and turns it to face him even as he leans forward, elbows on knees, and scrubs his hands violently through his hair. “Josh, there is nothing I can’t hear from you. Nothing. Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than what I’m imagining.”

“Which is?”

Her hand shoots out for his wrist so quickly she knocks his arm off his leg. As she takes a deep breath, her grip tightens enough that he suppresses a flinch. “Terrible incurable diseases. Brain tumors.”

Wow. “Okay, so that’s objectively worse than my thing. It’s also _not_ true. I’m healthy, Donna, alright? Had a physical last month and everything. I’m okay.” He covers her hand with his own and squeezes gently, resists the sudden urge to stroke her fingers - and starts violently when he realizes it’s not the first time he’s resisted that urge, only the first time he’s recognized himself doing it.

“Are you sure? Hearing random phrases repeating loudly enough to bother you, this jerk you just did—“

A bitter laugh escapes Josh, and he pulls away from her and stands to pace. “Forget it. Just forget it. Take your random phrases and go see Commander Wonderful. Leave your boss to deal with his demons without your off-track input. I’m not going to die on you, Donna. You’ve more than done your job. I know you’d rather be getting ready for your date than sitting here with me.”

She doesn’t move from her chair, and when he turns to pace past her again, he sees a distantly shocked expression on her face.

“Donna?” He sighs and drops back into his recently vacated chair. He gentles his voice and sets a hand lightly on her forearm. “I’m sorry. That was harsh. But you seriously don’t have to stay with me. You’ve been looking for a date with him all day and finally got it; you deserve to pamper yourself. You can leave. I’ll be fine, so you don’t have to worry.”

“I’d rather be getting ready for my date than sitting here with you,” she whispers, eyes moving to meet his gaze. He can feel himself flinch the smallest amount despite his best efforts.

“It’s okay.”

“Josh?”

She’s silent for long enough that he rubs her arm. “You still in there, Donna?”

“Yeah. I, uh, I think I know what you mean now.”

There are any number of things she could suddenly understand, but he’s suddenly terrified that she knows what he wouldn’t tell her and isn’t happy about it. “What?” he asks with trepidation.

“About something someone else said echoing in your head. Because it bothers you. Right?”

“What are you hearing?” he asks, dodging her question. Better if he can continue to have her believe it’s the repeating and the volume that bothers him, not the fact of her date with another man.

“You were wrong,” she says, voice suddenly louder. “And that’s a problem for me.”

He forces out a chuckle. “Well, I do try not to be wrong, but even I’m not perfect.”

Donna rolls her eyes at him, and he feels more relaxed and secure than he has all night. “Trust me, Josh, I’m well aware of your imperfections. Can you focus?”

 _I’m in love with you. You’re going on a date with Jack._ “Not entirely, but I’ll try.”

“It’s a problem to find out that your statement was wrong because of what it means to me and because of you being wrong. You, Josh.”

“Me, what?” he asks, and though she looks angry at first, Donna settles into a half-smile.

“You’re my problem.”

Shot in the chest, you’re my problem. PTSD, you’re my problem. Slammed a door on your finger, you’re my problem. Ran out of pens, you’re my problem, though that one was technically within the scope of her job. Possibly hearing voices, you’re my problem. But this, sitting in chairs and talking, and you’re my problem? It doesn’t fit together for Josh, until suddenly, blindingly, it does.

“I’m your problem,” he repeats flatly. “I’m your problem? No. Donna, I told you, I’m fine. Go on your date. I am not some problem you have to deal with even though you’d rather be with some gomer.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she says firmly, grabbing his wrist as he pulls his hand away from her arm. “Joshua, listen to me. I have a problem. You are that problem. Separate from our little problem exchange, separate from any concern I have about you right now, separate from anything happening right now. My problem is that I would rather sit here with you and talk about … about baseball, for Christ’s sake, than go on fifty dates with Jack Reese. Or with anybody else.”

 _I’m already in love with you._ He can’t do this. His head is full and going to burst at any minute, and he’s not ready to tell her about his new feelings even if her little speech almost has him convinced she won’t slap him and storm out if he says it. _I love you._ “I can’t do this tonight,” he tells her, feeling his whole body slump. “Whatever this is. I can’t even do my own thing tonight, so I’m sorry I’m not here for you, but I’m not … being me, as you call it.”

“And that’s pretty unfair of me to say, if you’re taking it seriously,” Donna says, but Josh folds his arms on the desk in front of him and drops his head onto them, and she stops talking. He’s not sleepy, but he’s been exhausted since the first campaign. Emotional conversations take a kind of toll on him now that they didn’t before - it’s no surprise someone he met on that campaign can think he’s an emotionally stunted asshole. He takes a deep breath in ( _i love you i love you_ ), holds it ( _i love you i love you_ ), and lets it out slowly ( _i’m so in love with you i can’t even think i’m so in love with you_ ).

“Thanksgiving tomorrow,” he mumbles at the desk, but she understands him as she so often does.

“Are you banned from the office this year?”

“Barring some sort of international emergency,” he answers, “so I’ll give it a fifty-fifty.”

She laughs softly and drops a hand on his back. “Okay?” He nods, and she rubs softly. “I haven’t made plans. Should I come over?”

 _I’m already in love with you._ “I’d like that. If you want to.”

Her hand hesitates for a second when he stops talking but quickly picks the rubbing back up. “Of course I want to, Josh. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to be there.”

“It’s just us this year,” he tells her, turning his head to face her and meeting her soft eyes. “With Sam out of town.”

“CJ and Toby?”

He would shrug, but it might disrupt her hand. “Home and Andy. I miss Sam.”

“I know.”

“He’s not coming back.”

“I know.”

“If you wanted to invited some of your friends over, that would be okay. Or if you don’t want to come.”

Her hand stops moving, then her jaw drops. “I’m perfectly happy with just us, if that’s your concern.”

The smile spreads from ear to ear quite without his permission, but she mirrors it and gets back to rubbing his spine.

 _I love you I love you_ “I love you” _I love you._

Her smile grows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah what?” he asks, eyes drifting closed against her continued rubbing.

She laughs softly. “Nothing, for now,” she tells him. “Just … deal with what you need to,” she taps his forehead gently, “in your own time, but don’t be afraid to talk to me when you’re ready. Okay?”

“If you say so,” he replies with much less doubt than he’d been feeling just two minutes ago. “We should go. We’re both done for the day. I’m going to get some sleep, and you wanted a shower.”

Her hand slides up his spine and into his hair, pulling lightly; he swallows hard to keep from showing his automatic reaction to the move. “Sleep sounds good. I’ll shower in the morning. I do have a phone call to make, though, canceling some plans I wish I never made.”

Josh opens his eyes, expecting her to be looking anywhere but at him after fighting him so hard all day to talk her up to Commander Whatever, but she’s meeting his gaze steadily with a half-smile on her face. After a moment, she nods at him as though confirming some message he doesn’t think he’s received.

“Come on, get up,” she says, tugging on his hair again. “If you’re done, you can walk me to my car.”

“Nobody ever walks me to my car,” he complains for the sake of complaining, pushing himself off the desk and leaning back in the chair.

“I do, every time my car is in the shop!”

“Doesn’t count,” he says firmly.

She rolls her eyes. “Coat and jacket, Josh. I’ll walk you to your car if you’re ready first.”

He’s a complainer, but there’s no way he isn’t walking her to her car after she asks him to. He’s about to tell her just that when suddenly she leans over and drops a brief, soft kiss on his temple before leaving his office.

She’s kissed him on the cheek before. CJ’s kissed him on the cheek. Hell, Margaret once kissed him on the cheek, though that was a pretty weird experience for him. The only person in his memory who’s kissed his temple is his mother, who always told him she was marking the spot for his future wife.

Huh.


End file.
